


Mutual Hatred

by Markovia



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alcohol, Almost smut, F/F, F/M, Goddamn you Izaya, Implied Shizuo/Izaya, rare pairs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 14:17:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10855719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Markovia/pseuds/Markovia
Summary: Namie and Shizuo bump into one another one evening in a bar and drink to Izaya's eventual demise.





	Mutual Hatred

**Author's Note:**

> A little one-shot for a rare pair that I thought would be amusing to write. I hope you enjoy.

She’s pissed off with everything that night. With Mika and her parents but mainly  _ Izaya.  _ The little shit has had her filing nonsense all day, berating her for no reason, taunting,  _ teasing _ \- she slams back another shot to get the taste of Izaya out of her mouth. He kissed her earlier, much to her displeasure. It was nothing to do with intimacy, she knows he feels no more for her that he does the rest of the world. No, that  _ kiss  _ was more of a power play. Something to say ‘I’m the boss. You're  _ my  _ plaything’ and it makes her stomach turn. He tasted like bitter coffee and she wants to erase every last drop that clung to her lips. Maybe that’s why she came to this bar in particular, just to piss Izaya off. 

 

He walks into the bar not half an hour after, still wearing that weird bartender’s outfit that she finds oddly sexy. There’s no-one she loves but Seiji but if she has to admit a ‘type’ - it’s blonde, tall, surly. Someone that despises Izaya as much as she does. 

 

“Ain’t you the flea’s secretary?” he asks, when he notices her slumped over the bar. He smells of the city, clearly having just finished his shift at work. Namie doesn’t bother to turn to look at him and finishes her third drink. 

 

“Shut up about Izaya. Can’t I escape the little shit for one fucking evening?”

 

Shizuo pauses. He seems awkward and she imagines that he hasn’t had someone speak to him in such a tone in a while. She isn’t scared of him, she’s not really afraid of anything. 

 

“Ah, sure. So what brings you here?”

 

“I thought we weren’t going to mention Izaya,” she spits and orders another whiskey. “I'm sure you know better than anyone that he can drive one to liquor.”

 

“You sure can drink,” Shizuo comments, sounding amused. He removes his glasses and tucks them into his shirt. The movement makes her note the taut muscles underneath the material and she decides to just be blunt about her intentions.

 

“Bad luck for you,” Namie replies, knocking back the beverage that is placed in front of her. The woman knows she’s playing with fire but she doesn’t care. She’s always played with fire. 

 

“Huh?” he says, sitting down on the stool next to her. “Why?”

 

“Because you’re buying them.”

 

“What?” he asks, frowning.

 

Namie grabs the loosened bow tie around his neck and jerks him closer. Her drink-flushed face is nasty and firm. “You’re buying me the next drink. Then we’re going back to my house and you’re going to use that vile strength of yours to fuck the shit out of me.”

 

Shizuo swallows and his gaze flicks up and down her body. He feels more nervous around this woman than he does Izaya. “Uh, I’ not sure if tha-”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” she rolls her head to one side and says the next two words mockingly. “ _ Shizu-chan _ .”

 

The name makes him tense and his fists clench around the wooden top of the bar, sending cracks along the entire counter. Namie laughs snidely at his loss of control and places a hand over one of his. His movements still, much to the relief of the bartender who was watching the cracks spread out across the counter with fear in his eyes. She smirks, in a fashion she learned from Izaya, a fashion she knows Shizuo will hate. 

 

“What’s the matter,  _ Shizu-chan _ ?”

 

“Shut up,” he growls. He grabs ahold of her hand and jerks her forward so that she is closer to his face. His brows are knitted and his expression aggravated. He holds her firmly and keeps her body leaning in the small space between their two stools. Eventually, he lets out a breath and squeezes her wrist tighter. It’s then that she feels the real strength that he is withholding and she wonders if her wrist will be broken by the end of the night. “Don't play games. You're not Izaya.”

 

“I'm as good as,” she replies, irritably. “I've done just as many terrible things.” 

 

“You're  _ not  _ Izaya,” Shizuo snarls. His grip tightens until Namie lets out a breathy gasp of pain, at which point he freezes. “So don't call me Shizu-chan. It pisses me off.”

 

She pauses for a second and the smirk softens slightly. Gently, she pulls against his grip and he releases her so that she can massage her aching wrist between the fingers of the opposite hand. Shizuo peers down at her arm and frowns when he sees it’s red and swollen, either bruises clearly blossoming under the skin. 

 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I get angry just thinking about that fleabag.”

 

Namie shakes her head and picks her drink back up. “Doesn't matter. I understand how you feel.”

 

“Out of interest,” he begins, motioning to the bartender for a drink. “Why do you work for him? Didn't he fuck up your company or something?”

 

The woman laughs harshly and let's her head roll forward so her hair partially covers her face. “Yes, he was undoubtedly involved somehow. Unfortunately there was nowhere else I could go. Izaya offered protection, money-”

 

“Ah,” Shizuo interrupts. “And there was me thinkin’ you fancied him or some shit.”

 

Namie splutters her drink and slams the glass down into the bar. She turns her head and gives the blond an incredulous look. “I'd rather cut off my lips than let that let  _ him  _ touch them again.”

 

“Again?” Shizuo repeats. He takes a sip of his drink and she notices the way his fingers strain around the glass as if he's trying not to shatter it. 

 

“The flea, as you so fondly call him, kissed me earlier. There's nothing between us, he's knows perfectly well that I hate his guts,” Namie explains, scowling darkly as she thinks of her employer’s smug face. “He just does it because he knows he can.”

 

“He knows he can?” Shizuo asks, confused. “Why don't you just push him out of a window?” 

 

Namie smiles bitterly. Oh how she wishes she could kill the informant - she often dreams of poisoning his tea or filling his porridge with broken glass. “Because Izaya is the only thing keeping my life safe at the moment. Until that changes, I can't-”

 

She trails off but Shizuo nods as if he understands what she’s trying to say. He rests one elbow on the bar and places his cheek against his knuckles so that he can observe her quietly. 

 

“So that's why I'm in this bar,” she continues, raising her glass to her lips. She takes a large gulp of the drink and wipes her mouth with the back of her sleeve. “Trying to get the taste of him out of my mouth.”

 

Shizuo stares at her blankly for a second until the penny drops. “You want some help with that?” 

 

“Yes,” she answers, shoving her empty glass across the bar toward him. “But first I’d like a vodka tonic.”

 

“Sure,” the man says, smiling. “Just to be clear, you're only doing this because Izaya won't like it, ain't ya?”

 

Namie shrugs. “Not entirely. I also haven't had a good shag in a long time and you seem like you might have stamina at least.”

 

Shizuo is surprised by her forthrightness but finds that he likes it, so he motions to the bartender for more drinks. “Well if it'll piss off the flea, I'm game.”

 

Namie smirks again and runs a hand through her hair. He can't help thinking ‘ _ plus you're hot as fuck _ ’ to himself. She’s a beautiful woman, with a great figure and a sharp, ruthless intelligence lurking behind her eyes. Shizuo can't help but feel sorry for her - he can't imagine being stuck in a situation where he actually  _ needed  _ Izaya. A horrible thought enters his mind then and he can't stop himself from blurting it out. 

 

“If he pushes you too far,” he mumbles. “Y’know. And you don't want to - just call me and I'll come break his neck.” 

 

Namie laughs highly but there’s an obvious nervousness to her tone that suggests to him that she has thought about  _ that  _ before too. 

 

“I don't think Izaya would-”

 

“I wouldn't put anything past him at this point,” Shizuo growled, clenching his free hand on his lap. “He treats everyone as a plaything, so just be careful, yeah?”

 

Namie blinks. If she’s surprised by the sudden care she doesn't show it on her face. “Thank you for the concern but I don't think I'll be needing a Prince Charming. I'm quite capable of breaking Izaya’s neck myself.” 

 

Shizuo chuckles and leans against the bar with both of his forearms. “Well, call me when that happens. I’d like to watch.”

 

The night descends quickly from their, but neither of them minds. Shizuo is somewhat dazed by Namie, by her lips and the curve of her waist and the way her legs wrap around his waist when he slams her back into the wall of the hallway leading from her front door to the living area. She groans slightly at the impact but the sound is tinged with pleasure rather than pain and from the way she drags her fingers through his hair, he can tell she likes the way he plays rough. Namie is letting herself get lost in the sensations rather than thinking on them too hard, she doesn’t want to snap awake and remember Seiji or  _ Izaya.  _ She scratches her nails down Shizuo’s arms as he continues to smother her mouth with his. He’s a good kisser, she thinks, completely wild and all over the place - so different from Izaya’s taunting lips or Seiji stoic, misplaced mouth. There’s passion behind his actions despite their lack of history. She assumes that it coming from the mutual hatred that burns between them for a certain individual. Despite trying to ignore Izaya’s looming presence in the shadows, he was ever-present and their tryst was an obvious ‘fuck you’ to those omniscient eyes. Namie drags his head away from her mouth by gripping the hair in her fingers tighter. The blond hisses but allows her to move him, though he digs his fingers into her the thighs wrapped around his waist. Her mouth falls open slightly and pain flashes through her glaring eyes - there will definitely be bruises there tomorrow. 

 

“Bedroom’s that way,” she growls, yanking his hair to the left. 

 

“Fuck,” he groans, moving her away from the wall. He carries her in the direction she pulls his hair until he stumbles into her bedroom and drops her unceremoniously on the bed. “Fuck, okay. Are you sure you want to do this?”

 

Namie places a hand over her eyes and sighs irritably before peering through her fingers at him. He’s standing above her at the end of the bed, his outfit and hair mussed from her ministrations. Heiwajima is a good looking guy in this light, she thinks, perhaps she’s not doing this just to piss Izaya off. “Yes. Now hurry up.”

 

Shizuo smiles and kneels down on the bed between her thighs. He crawls up her body until his hands rest on either side of her head, then he lowers himself down onto his forearms so he is closer to her face. 

 

“This is crazy,” he murmured, blinking rapidly as if he cannot believe she is laying beneath him. “You know Izaya is gonna-”

 

“If I hear that man’s name one more time tonight, I will rip your balls off,” she hisses, eyes narrowing angrily.

 

The blond laughs, the sound a deep and pleasant rumble in his chest. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”

 

“Says the man who can rip a car in half with his bare hands,” she retorts, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck. She strokes one finger down the bulging vein that winds down around his throat and smiles when he shivers gently. “I should be the one quaking in my boots, shouldn’t I? Should I scream and run away from the monster?”

 

Shizuo tenses and leans down so that he can press his lips against her neck. Namie lets out a soft sigh but her fingernails dig roughly into the skin below his hairline. “I’m not a monster.”

 

“I know,” she replies. Shizuo is surprised by her response and leans back so he can look at her face. There is nothing but honesty there and for a moment he doesn’t know how to react. So he kisses her gently and allows her to unbutton his shirt. The blond strips her of her jumper, skirt and tights, throwing them off to the corner of the room. He wonders if Namie is thinking the same thing as him - in the morning they will both have to go back to a life with Izaya Orihara watching and plotting over them, spoiling everything they both worked so hard to attain. Just for the night he hopes that they can rid themselves of the hatred that runs thick in their blood each and every day. They both know this is the only time this will happen, that this is driven partially by lust but predominantly by their need to escape but it’s pleasant to dream that in another world, one far simpler than this one, they might have met under different circumstances.

A loud buzz rings out in the room just as her hands move to the button of his trousers. Namie flinches and sits up, taking him with her. 

 

“What’s that?” Shizuo asks. He continues to kiss her neck, though she remains utterly still. 

 

“Doorbell,” she answers. 

 

“Expecting someone?”

 

Namie frowns and pushes on his chest until he is far back enough that scoot out from beneath him. Shizuo looks at her and raises a brow. He opens his mouth to speak but she holds up a hand and presses a finger to her lips. 

 

“Listen,” she says, softly. Her frown descends into a look of utter hatred and her gaze flicks back to the blond. “Listen.”

 

Shizuo cocks his head to one side, bemused by her sudden change of attitude. It’s then that he hears it - the voice and footsteps coming from her living room. 

 

“I had a spare key so I let myself in! I wanted to have hot-pot so I bought some ingredients. Can you cook it though Naaa-mie? You know I’m rubbish at cooking.”

 

The two of them look at each other with murder in their eyes.  _ That voice _ . That  _ grating,  _ awful voice that taunts both of them on a daily basis and won’t leave them alone even now. Shizuo stands first and Namie nods at him, giving him permission to do as he pleases. The man stomps out through the door with Namie following just behind him, not bothering to pick up his shirt on the way. He fully intends to kick the shit out of their guest and then pick up where they left off. She grabs a dressing gown on the way, one she knows is just short enough to show off the bruises on her thighs and low enough to reveal the bites on her throat. 

 

Izaya is sitting on her sofa, lounging about as if he owns the place. He’s scrolling through his phone with one hand and the other arm is stretched out over the top cushion of the couch, picking mindlessly at an errant thread. 

 

“Oh, and about earlier-” the information broker looks up at that point and his smirk falters when he sees the furious blond standing a few feet away from him. “Shizu-chan? What are you-?”

 

He pauses when he realises the man is shirtless. With wide eyes he peers behind Shizuo to see Namie, clearly in a state of bruised undress. She is scowling fiercely at him and for once, under the weight of both their glares, Izaya feels a little nervous. 

 

“Ah- I see. What an interesting development,” he laughs, getting to his feet. He brushes off his fur-lined coat and gestures to the plastic bag on the table with a flourish of his fingers. “Well I shall leave you to your sweet love-making! Please enjoy the food I brought - I’m feeling a little nauseous now, so I’d rather not eat.”

 

“Izaya,” Shizuo growls, taking another step forward. Izaya steps back out of reach before the blond can grab him. 

 

“Ah, sweet indeed! Just remember that Namie will be thinking of her own flesh-and-blood brother! And Shizu-chan-,” the informant smirks and giggles gleefully. “Shizu-chan will be thinking of me.”

 

The blond roars and dashes over the couch toward Izaya, who has taken quickly to his heels out of the door. Namie sighs tiredly and sits down on the couch as she listens to the two men crashing down the staircase outside of her apartment. With a low growl, she reaches for the bottle of wine Izaya left on the table and unscrews the top with her teeth. She spits the cap onto the floor and raises the bottle to her lips so she can drink deeply. After a moment she lowers the bottle and reaches for the TV remote on the coffee table. 

 

Of course Izaya would interrupt, she thinks, flicking on the television. She lays back on the sofa and stretches her aching legs out on the cushions. Typical, fucking typical. 

 


End file.
